Chapter 23 #2
Her soft voice brought his eyes to hers, and he searched them to see if she would receive what he was about to say. Did he still have a hope of winning her? Was her heart open to a second chance? Even if it was not, he did not think he could keep his feelings in any longer.
“However, I find myself in a lamentable situation still. My heart is yours, Amy, and I would offer you my hand in marriage today if I thought I could do so honorably.” He willed her to believe him. “But I cannot.”
A flush rose up in Amy’s cheeks, and she broke his gaze. “I never asked it of you.” The hurt in those words hit James squarely in the chest.
“You did not, but I feel myself obligated to clarify.” He had upset her and felt himself to be the biggest cur.
“I came today to explain why I have not yet approached you, even though I was at liberty to do so. I am currently living in very straitened circumstances. Without my expected inheritance, this is not likely to change quickly.”
Amy remained silent, and James wished she would look at him again. He needed her to understand—hoped she would accept him as he was.
“So that you know all, I am living hand-to-mouth as it is and cannot support a wife. This is the only reason I have not sought you out or requested an audience with your father. Even though I wish I could marry you, I truly cannot.” He had belabored the point more than was flattering to either of them.
Amy stood, the evidence of her emotions in the suddenness of it. He leaped to his feet, overwhelmed by the desperate need to reassure her. His powerlessness kept his hands at his sides as she faced him.
“You need not worry about any obligation you feel toward me. We are to leave Spa in two days,” she said, her voice tight. “I believe my father is motivated by his consideration for Marianne, so she will not have to meet Mr. Lambert in society.”
“It is not out of obligation that I speak. . . .” A shaft of alarm went through him, and gripped by a sense of urgency, he reached out to clasp her hands. The warm touch brought her gaze up to his.
“I will write, Amy. If you are willing to receive my letters, I will write to you. And I will throw my heart into creating the means to support a wife so that I might make you mine, if you are content to wait for an indeterminate amount of time. That, and if you will settle for a man with a modest living.”
She did not speak, and there was a sheen to her eyes. The sight of it compelled him to pull her closer. Surely he did no wrong in doing so. Their history was such that she must know of his deep attachment. Besides, it was easier to persuade her like this, he reasoned.
“I won’t exact any promise from you in return. You will be at liberty to marry someone else if you grow tired of waiting, for it is not fair of me to ask anything of you. But I cannot let you go without at least making the attempt—without laying bare my feelings for you.”
Her face was heightened in color, and she did not speak, although she allowed her hands to rest in his. He would settle for the smallest sign of agreement and urged again, “May I write to you?”
Her lips curled upward by a fraction, and this time she looked up. “You may.”
His heart roared in response. It was more than he deserved, and he meant to lean in merely to kiss her cheek—a liberty he should not have taken, no matter how small.
However, she had not anticipated his gesture and turned her face at the last minute so that he kissed her mouth.
The touch of their lips shot right through him, and he stood frozen with the force of his attraction. He could not pull away.
After a weightless second, she pulled back, blinking at him. Time stretched, but she did not step away either.
James breathed in and out, his gaze locked on hers, attempting to keep himself in check. It was a losing battle. Impossible to see that dear face once again so close and not do what he had long desired to do. He slipped his hands around her tight waist and swiftly pulled her to him.
Tilting his face, he very deliberately kissed her, an insatiate kiss born of six years of famine.
It was not the fumbling kiss of a young man, fresh from Oxford, about to embark on the school of life.
It was a kiss full of life’s experience, encompassing all the pent-up memories, regret, delay, and longing.
It was a kiss that, not a minute later, would make him wish to bang his head against the wall rather than own to his folly.
He had just told her he could not marry her and that he would not exact a promise from her.
And then he did this. Wisdom marched backward in time and took him by the scruff of the neck, and only then did he step away.
His neck and face had grown warm, and there were crimson spots on her cheeks that matched her lips.
She blinked at him slowly, and this time there was no quip, no jest. Only a grave look in return, as though she had realized the same thing he had—he was either a scoundrel, a liar, or both.
“Forgive me, Amy.” His hands were still loosely draped about her waist, and he removed them as though they had been burned. He stepped back and cleared his throat. “Forgive me.”
Then he fled.
In a numb state, Amy walked to Marianne’s door and knocked. Her sister opened it at once, as though she had been waiting. She stepped back to allow Amy to enter.
“What happened? Has he gone?”
“He has. I am going to rest in my room for a bit. I don’t feel like talking about it.
” She touched Marianne’s arm in a gesture of reassurance that she couldn’t give in words.
She would be fine. It was just not something she could voice right now.
Before turning to her room, she added, “I know you meant to give us privacy, and I didn’t want you and Hannah to be locked in your rooms forever. ”
Marianne looked as though she wanted to say more but resisted.
As soon as Amy entered the sanctuary of her room, she heard the sounds of Marianne going to knock on Hannah’s door, where they would likely dissect what might have happened between her and James.
She would tell them about his confession eventually, but right now her heart felt too fragile to share the moment with anyone else.
The way James had kissed her showed that his feelings had not diminished—not at all.
She was not angry that he had taken the liberty after telling her he could not offer his hand in marriage.
She knew him well enough to know that he was an honorable man, and if he could not support a wife at present, he would not make empty promises.
But it was still heartbreaking to have that door to love wrenched open again only to find emptiness behind it.
She sat on the chair in the corner of her room and leaned back.
He loved her still. That was a great solace, even though she would not have her heart’s dream right away.
A dry voice spoke from the recesses of her heart.
If only he were not quite so honorable and focused on duty, we might not need to wait for a perfect situation.
But she could understand his wanting to wait until he was settled and earning an income.
Had she not refused him for the same reason six years ago?
Knotting her fingers together, she turned the problem about in her mind, attempting to see if there was a way around it. She could offer her dowry, but he would only reject it. Besides, he had not precisely proposed again, and she could not very well propose to him.
The evening shadows had begun to fall, and although Amy was more hopeful than she had been two days ago—since then she had not learned of James’s broken engagement—her hope was tinged with regret.
They could not predict how long it would take to build up his practice or find clients for his therapeutic baths.
How long she would continue to traipse alongside her family on a tour she had never wanted to go on.
She liked her life in Spa and had no wish to leave.
Would she have to return with them to London unmarried still, because James was yet too impoverished to offer for her?
That was a bleak prospect. But she had his promise to console herself with.
He would write to her and wait for her. This, she believed with all of her heart. And she would wait for him.
The next morning she knocked on the Princess Orlova’s door for the last time. The maid showed her into the parlor, where the princess was sitting alone.
“My children go for walk with servant. They have too much energy sit still.”
“I understand,” Amy said. “It is a beautiful day out. What would you like to read today?” She looked at the table and noticed there were no books or newspapers there.
The princess turned on the sofa to face her. “Today, we talk. Perhaps you tell me next destination for family.”
Amy nodded, feeling a pang in her heart even thinking of climbing back into the carriage and leaving Spa—the carriage that would put miles between her and James.
“As things stand now, we will only go to Paris for a week to break the journey before traveling on to Aix-en-Provence, although my sister hopes to persuade my father to push the visit out. Her every hope is nestled in Paris.” She smiled feebly.
“And you? Where is hope . . . nestled?” the princess asked.
Amy thought for a minute. She knew the answer but did not know how to say it without lowering her reserve. She decided that for once she would express what was truly on her heart. After all, they were not likely to meet again.
“I regret leaving Spa so soon, to own the truth. I have enjoyed life here—and the company.” She smiled, including the princess in her praise. “There is also Mr. Fletcher, who is an old friend of mine.”
Amy paused and folded her hands on her lap. The princess waited until she continued, giving Amy the distinct impression that she had said too much or not enough. She would have to disclose the rest.